


Survival Protocol

by Fox_the_Hermit



Category: Bleach, Prey (Video Game 2017)
Genre: Action, Gen, Human Experimentation, Memory Alteration, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_the_Hermit/pseuds/Fox_the_Hermit
Summary: “Good morning, Kisuke Yu. Today is March fifteenth, 2032.”March fifteenth. His first day working for the Talos division of TranStar. Their most ambitious project to date - and possibly a truly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.This is going to be the best day of his life. Nothing could possibly spoil a day like this.Nothing.(No knowledge of Prey is necessary to enjoy this fic to its fullest.)





	1. Good Morning, Kisuke Yu

“Good morning, Kisuke Yu. Today is March fifteenth, 2032.”

A pale hand shoots out from the bed to turn off the alarm before it decides to announce the time, which is always the same, because it’s when the alarm is  _ supposed to ring _ ; the weather, which will still be evident from the window either way, and he’s pretty sure he hadn’t left himself any audio recordings yesterday. Reasonably sure. Mostly sure.

As it turns out, the weather is  _ brilliantly _ sunny, with nary a cloud in sight. Kisuke squints for a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the unexpected brightness. The polished stone floor gleams, reflecting the light, and he almost feels like burying his head right back under the covers. Except he can’t. Today is an important day, but he can’t quite remember… Well. It’ll come to him. 

Faint whispering reaches his ears, and he frowns. Then it fades away. Must be remnants of the dream.

He reaches for the transcribe on the bedside table, just as it starts to ring with an incoming call.

Oh. His brother.

“Morning, Kisuke. Get up, or you risk being late; the testing is supposed to start right on time today, and you’re not the only one being tested. I’ve sent a helicopter to pick you up, it should be landing on the roof soon. Probably before you get to the roof yourself. See you later.”   
The call ends before he can reply. Classic. Brother always has to have the first and last word with everything, doesn’t he.

Wash, dress, eat, then go and hope no one is irritated by him having to take the  _ time _ to be  _ presentable _ . Right.

Wait, no. He’s already dressed in the uniform. Must have… must have gotten up earlier, gotten ready, then laid down for a bit more sleep. The collar of it is uncomfortably  _ solid _ , almost as though it’s an actual thick band of metal. Kisuke tugs at it, grimacing. Necessary for space, maybe, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

He still  _ does _ need to brush his hair, however, even if he’s already been up earlier. 

Kisuke looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Pauses. 

His right eye is bloodshot. Red. 

They had mentioned it being a side-effect of neuromod installation. Well. Sticking a needle into an eye could have temporary consequences. And he only installed it… yesterday, right before going to bed.

He blinks rapidly several times, and the red recedes a little.

There’s a bottle of sake on the kitchen countertop, with a note from Yoruichi. Kisuke takes a bite out of an apple while he reads.   
“ _ Congrats on being called in to work as a consultant on Telos! Working on a space station, making new tech, exploring… things, all right up your alley. Wish I could go, but it’s not like they’d have  _ space _ for a behavioral analyst or biologist. No animals in space. See you after your rotation there ends and you return to our old planet! _

_ “Shinji couldn’t leave a note, was busy doing something or other. I only heard the words ‘investigation’, ‘suspicious activity’, and ‘altered records’, before he hurried off. Guess that’s an investigative journalist for you! Said to tell you ‘Good luck, and get plenty of space photos!’ _

_ “- Yoruichi.” _

Well. He’s going to miss them, but the rotation is only six months. No time at all.

There’s no new emails on his computer - only the three from yesterday. The delivery ones concerning the transcribe, neuromod, and uniform, the welcome message from the human resources department, brother mentioning that neither mother nor father will be there to see them off on shuttle launch day…

Time to go then.

The apartment door closes silently behind him, clicking as it locks. Good. He’ll be back today to pack, and then tomorrow, if all goes well, it’s time to  _ go to space. _

Kisuke stifles an excited laugh. He can’t  _ wait _ to see in person what his brother’s been up to.

The maintenance worker in the corridor nods at him in acknowledgement, and he nods back, wishing he could remember her name to say hello to her properly. It was… something starting with an ‘F’, maybe, or a ‘P’? He should be able to remember it, she’s around rather often. Odd.

The elevator ride is short, the roof only a few floors higher than the apartment. True to brother’s words, the helicopter is already waiting for him. The pilot in the sealed-off cockpit greets him with a rehearsed-sounding speech that Kisuke doesn’t listen to. It’s probably not important, anyway.

The city  _ gleams _ in the morning sun, tall glass skyscrapers and massive billboards already shining with advertisements - or  _ still _ shining, rather. The city never sleeps, after all. ‘ _ Which city? _ ’ something whispers, and Kisuke blinks. His city. It’s the city where he’s been staying for-

The helicopter touches down on the landing pad of the TranStar building, and Kisuke leaves it, shaking his head. The doors to enter the building are automatic, of course, and he enters.

A hovering robot of some sort, flat and almost rectangular in shape - a science operator, he remembers from the introductions and briefings - turns to… face him, he supposes.   
“Good morning Mr Yu, we have been waiting for you. Please take the elevator to the thirtieth floor.” The voice is feminine,  _ almost _ human, with just a bit too much crackle to quite pass. Perhaps he could fix the programming for that later…

The elevator goes straight down to the right floor, making no stops in between. Strange. He’d have expected it to stop at some point, pick up another person - it’s a working day, after all, and past the time that work usually starts.

The doors open.

There’s a booth across from him, and the corridor bends to the right, but what catches his attention is the familiar figure waiting for him. Light glints off his brother’s glasses. 

“Good to see you here on time, Kisuke.”   
“Same for you, Sousuke. That call in the morning was so abrupt, I thought you  _ didn’t _ want to see my face today.”

Sousuke laughs, and shakes his head, leading Kisuke to the end of the corridor.   
“No, no, this is  _ exactly _ where I want you to be. Now, the testing will be be overseen by Doctor Sylvian Bellamy and his assistants - he’s in the booth over there, wave hello to him. I can’t stay to watch, unfortunately - but I’m sure you’ll do perfectly fine.”

The tall man in the booth wearing a lab coat and holding a cup of coffee, waves back at Kisuke.

“Do we take the tests in pairs, then?” drawls an unfamiliar voice. Kisuke looks to the right.

A young man with vibrant indigo hair is sitting on the couch around the corridor’s bend, flipping through a magazine - or, at the moment, watching the siblings with narrowed eyes.

“Ah, Kisuke, meet Doctor Mayuri Kurotsuchi - and no, the testing will be undertaken individually. There seems to be a mistake made with your email, Doctor Kurotsuchi, you were not supposed to come in until later - however, the testing is not likely to take long, you will not have to  _ wait _ too long. Now, I must go. Doctor Bellamy will call you in when it is time.”   
Sousuke smiles, again, and leaves.

“You are Kisuke Urahara-Yu?” Kurotsuchi tilts his head. “I’ve read some of your work. Quite fascinating.”   
“Nothing on the scale of what my brother has been doing with Talos I, I’m afraid. It is a pleasure to meet you- oh, were you not at the conference in Tokyo about-”   
“Doctor Yu, please enter the testing room.”

The door opens, and Kisuke sees the room - white, with a stand with a button on it, and nothing more that he can see without entering.   
“Ah, see you later, I suppose.”   
“Perhaps.”

Kisuke steps over the threshold. The whispers come back, now, except they’re louder, more  _ urgent _ , before they silence themselves. The back of his neck prickles.

Is it just the neuromod? They hadn’t said what this one did.

The left wall of the room turns out to be glass, through which he can see a laboratory, and three people watching him - Bellamy, another scientist sitting down and taking notes, and- they aren’t wearing lab coats, simply civilian clothing. 

“The first test is to move these boxes,” the three squares on the floor before him rise, revealing themselves to be cubes set into the floor, “To the circle on the floor, right by the glass here. Press the button when you are ready.”

_ ‘This is… a distinctly strange test, for one supposedly meant to test for space-worthiness’ _ , Kisuke thinks, complying with the instructions. ‘ _ Something… something is  _ wrong _. It’s not like it’s a proper strength test, or agility test, or anything. I feel like I’m supposed to be completing this test  _ differently _.’ _

“Good. Now, the next test. Don’t worry, you’re doing exactly as we expected.”

The next room has a barrier in the middle.   
“Please get over the barrier, in the most natural way possible. Press the button when you are ready.” Bellamy smiles at him.   
Kisuke shrugs, presses the button, and leaps right over the barrier.

Hm. He should have been able to jump higher than that. He should invest a bit more time in training, if he’s starting to slide back.

“Good, very good. Next test.”

One of the civilian-clothes observers, the ginger one, comes closer to the glass, watching as Kisuke goes on. He frowns, before turning to Bellamy to ask him something, but the microphone is already turned off, and he can’t lip-read out of the corner of his eye.

The third room has the button, again, and a chair.

“For this test, please, hide yourself as best you can. Press the button when you are ready.”

Kisuke stops himself from gaping, but only barely, and instead simply stares in disbelief.

There is  _ nowhere _ to hide. What, is he supposed to hide behind the chair? The button? The whole room is an open space, there are no hiding places whatsoever.

Maybe this is some kind of psychological test, or some sort of hazing arranged by his brother. Perhaps the real test comes afterwards.

He pokes the button, and then simply stands there, shrugging helplessly at them.

After a few moments, Bellamy nods.   
“Just the last test left now.”   
The doors slides open, and this time, there’s no button in the room, just a computer right before the glass.   
“Please, answer the questions. Take as much time as you like.”

This time, Kisuke  _ can _ see the man as he talks.   
“This part is to assess the personality drift - even with normal neuromods, sometimes we observe deviations from the baseline. Oh, and can someone bring me a new coffee again? This one’s empty.” Bellamy gestures at the mug in his hand, identical to the one on the table.   
‘ _ Personality drift?’ _

Kisuke blinks, shrugs, and turns to the screen.   
Movement catches his eye. And so does the screaming, faintly audible even through the glass.

The mug in Bellamy’s hand has  _ transformed _ into some kind of four-limbed black shifting  _ mass _ . It moves, wrapping two limbs - tentacles, perhaps - around Bellamy’s neck while the others scream, and then a third is plunged right down Bellamy’s throat. In seconds, the scientist collapses, his face grey and  _ wrong _ and Kisuke’s is scrambling back from the glass-

White gas is suddenly pouring into the room, and he can’t help breathing it in.

Everything starts going grey, the room tilts and sways-

The floor is cold and hard. Wordless inhuman screaming blots out everything else.

The world goes black.   


  
  
  



	2. Déjà vu

“Good morning, Kisuke Yu. Today is March fifteenth, 2032.”

A pale hand shoots out from the bed to turn off the alarm before it decides to announce the time. He doesn’t care to hear it right now, not after the damn  _ nightmare _ . Ridiculous testing. A failing memory - impossible, he’s  _ always  _ had a perfect one. Someone being eaten by a carnivorous  _ coffee mug _ , of all things. Really, for a lucid dream, it was odd he hadn't realised it  _ was _ a dream.

Next time, no more sleeping  _ after _ getting up and getting ready for the day. 

Oh well. At least he’s already dreamed of the absolute worst-case scenario for how this day could go. The actual testing could not be anywhere near as ridiculous, and would certainly not be interrupted by someone  _ dying _ .

He reaches for the transcribe. It rings.

Sousuke’s call goes  _ exactly _ the same as it had in the dream.  _ Hah.  _ His brother really has gotten quite  _ predictable _ . He’d hate to know that, too.

At least the dream got the weather right. The sun is shining, dazzling light reflecting off the floor as it is, warming up the room. Kisuke squints at it for a second. Odd that there aren’t any birds at this time of the morning. HIs apartment might be high up - but he can’t hear them at all. Just very distant noises of traffic.

Time to get  _ presentable _ , eat, then leave. The helicopter’s probably already waiting.

He pauses in front of the bathroom mirror, blissfully hidden from the sun. His hair’s  _ almost _ not enough of a mess to bother brushing. Except it’s going to be his first day on the job, and it’s probably best to make a good impression, as his brother would say.

His eye isn't red, at least. Another creation of his dreaming mind. 

Glancing around at the countertops in the kitchen, he sees a bottle of sake, with a note by it. Same as in the dream, down to the very last word - but since he got up earlier, he must have simply read it already. Kisuke folds it, and carefully puts it in one of the several convenient pockets of the suit. The thing has a  _ lot _ of storage space, more than he would have expected. Almost makes up for how unpleasantly the collar constricts his throat.

Checking the fridge for food reveals several apples and energy drinks. Clearly, he’s been neglecting grocery shopping lately.

The apple smells and looks… there’s something just a little off about it, something  _ unfamiliar. _ Frowning, he tosses it from one hand to the other. It’s perfect. Blemish-free. It smells like the most  _ apple _ apple to ever exist. Like the smell has been intensified. Like it’s so perfect that it feels like it’s fake.

He’s just dissociating from stress. It’s nothing. 

Should he check his emails before leaving? Eh, he can probably access them from the transcribe on the way to the building. Useful little thing, that - more processing and storage space than a normal phone. 

The too-perfect apple is too unnerving to eat, frankly - would it even  _ taste _ too much like an apple? He can eat something later.

Throwing one last look at his apartment - clean glossy countertops in the kitchen, table laden with scraps of machinery, books and notebook scattered over the couch - Kisuke opens the door.

And frowns, not crossing the threshold.

The lights in the corridor are out. All of them. Even the emergency-exit lights. Even the lighting for the aquarium set into the wall where the corridor ends at the right-hand-side.

The only source of illumination is a dropped lamp by an opened-up section of the wall on the left side of the corridor.

The air is cold, too - much colder than it should be, and there’s an odd  _ smell _ , like dried musty paper and a light, persistent smell of something  _ dead _ . 

Not letting the door close behind him, to provide additional illumination, Kisuke pulls out the small torch that is also part of the uniform. He smiles wryly. TranStar really does think of  _ everything _ , doesn’t it.

Despite its small size, the flashlight provides decent illumination. Decent enough to show that where the corridor bent to lead to the elevator, there was only a wall. Decent enough that Kisuke can see the collapsed form of a person close to the dropped lamp. The maintenance worker.

Kisuke hurries over, tripping over his own feet. She might be alive, just unconscious… Maybe something went wrong with the wiring, she’s just been shocked by the electricity, she’s  _ fine _ , just needs an ambulance-

She’s turned away from him.

Cautiously, he walks around.

And scrambles back, almost falling down.

Holy  _ fuck _ .   
Her face is disfigured... dried out, like a husk of an insect that had the misfortune of being a spider’s lunch. Mummified and distorted. Like the face in Munch’s  _ Scream.  _ Just like Bellamy, in the dream.

She’s very clearly the source of the smell. And very clearly  _ dead _ . 

_ Patricia _ , his memories finally tell him. The building’s maintenance worker’s name.  _ Patricia _ .

Gulping, Kisuke looks around. There’s no sign of an attacker.

The woman had dropped her wrench. Well, it’s not like there seems to be any other potential weapon around. It’s just the right weight to be useful for defending himself. 

Not that it seems to have done Patricia much good.

The leather - or fake leather - wrapping around the handle feels stiff, probably from the cold.

Kisuke inspects the new wall, looking for any buttons or triggers or gaps, any way to get past it. Nothing. The mechanism seems to be operated externally. A few hits with the wrench barely make a dent - and scratch off the paper mache layer and paint. The wall isn’t wooden. It’s metal. 

That’s not the way to escape then.

The doors to the other apartments are locked electronically - and there’s no panel that he can use to hack them open. The doors are too solid to break.

This is not good.

Staying here is not safe. He has to call someone, he realises. There’s a corpse. And he’s trapped. Police. That’s who he should call.

Hastily, he pulls out the transcribe - but despite the signal bar being full, the call doesn’t go through. Kisuke tries another number. And another. 

The calls don’t go through. There’s not even an answering machine.

He can’t call for help. He can’t leave the building through any of the normal ways. His brother might come looking to find out why Kisuke’s late to the meeting.

But there’s something murderous on the prowl here. He can’t risk staying.

Okay. Time for creative solutions.

His apartment window. If he can get outside, get to another balcony a floor down, shatter the window, get access to an  _ unblocked _ corridor with a staircase. Surely, whoever’s doing this, can’t disable a  _ staircase. _

He might as well try, at least.

Kisuke almost slams the door behind him, even though the corridor is empty of any clear threat. Hopefully whatever killed Patricia is far, far away now. On another floor. Fighting an unknown assailant isn’t something he fancies doing first thing in the morning.

The computer screen catches his eye. There’s six new email notifications. Odd. Perhaps he should check them. Perhaps there’s an explanation   
Maybe this is some kind of reality tv prank orchestrated by his brother as revenge for  _ something _ or other.   
“ _ Danger. Leave. Now.” _ __  
Well. The first email is not reassuring.   
Kisuke blinks, and scrolls through the rest.   
All six have the same message. 

“ _ Danger. Leave. Now.” _   
The sender is only identified as  _ Январь _ . 

January, in russian. Why would someone pick  _ that _ as a codename? Why in  _ russian? _   
Cold water flows through his veins.

It  _ could _ be just a prank email. Same as the rest of this situation. Yoruichi, or Shinji, or his brother, or all three, even, working together. And yet. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like just a prank.

The transcribe starts humming. Another call.    
This  _ January _ , again.   
“Kisuke. There’s not time for questions. You have to escape the apartment.  _ Now _ . Don’t trust  _ anyone _ . Especially your brother.  _ Код 24: кража тараканов. _ ”

It’s his own voice. A perfect replica of his _own_ _voice_. Even the russian part is perfect, catching his own particular accent and sing-song inflections.

Such a replica shouldn’t be  _ possible.  _ Well. There’s a high chance it isn’t.

Code 24: Theft of roaches.

No one knows _that_ _code_. The code for if he’s about to be memory-wiped and has to leave a message to himself. He’s never shared it with anyone. It’s not something anyone would be able to guess, either - nothing personal in it, just a play on words based on a russian expression.  
This situation just got much, much worse.

Looking down at the transcribe, Kisuke pauses. Before, he hadn’t bothered putting in the earbud that comes with it. But if he keep getting calls like  _ this… _ would probably be best not to have to get it out every time to hear whatever  _ January _ needs to tell him. And it would probably be best for others to not be able to hear what’s being said.

Right. Time to try the window exit.

The windows are locked.

Blinking, Kisuke looks around, and grabs the key off the table. 

The door to the balcony refuses to open, despite the lock clicking. It doesn’t feel jammed, either.

The glass panes are oddly  _ hot _ under his touch. Perhaps just the sun. Or perhaps...

Well. Time to try a different method of opening the windows.

Hefting the wrench high, Kisuke stands back. And swings.

The glass shatters into a million pieces, spilling on the floor like shining rain. The city disappears, revealing a lamp radiating light and  _ heat _ , standing in a darkened laboratory. The floor is smooth metal. Desks, crates, and some workstations are scattered around. The ceiling is high - high enough that there’s a walkway and a second floor. His apartment is… fake. A replica.

The air is cool and dry. It’s suffocating. His throat refuses to work properly. Like something is lodged in it.

The world is swaying slightly. Or maybe it’s just him.

There’s two notes on the nearest deck. With trembling hands, he picks one up.    
“ _ Wake it at 7:30. Then it turns off alarm before it gets to the time. Picks up the transcribe at 7:32. Recorded call to sound at 7:33. Then-” _

The note continues on, detailing everything right down to his arrival at TranStar. There, the simulation diverges into optional paths. Sometimes Kurotsuchi is present, sometimes not. Sometimes Sousuke greets him, sometimes not.

Numbly, he looks at the other one.

_ “Alteration: Switched off the birds flying by in the simulation. It’s too attentive, always picks up on them being  _ off _ , tries to open window to get a better look, starts trying to pick lock, and when nothing works starts to freak out, and we have to restart. _

_ “Alteration: Have asked Patricia to stop doing anything other than nod at it in greeting. It’s too perceptive. _

_ “Result: Simulations are running as normal now.” _

He drops the second note, too.

He has to focus.

None of this is making any sense, but he has to focus.

At least the whispering isn’t back. That wouldn’t he helpful right now. 

His apartment isn’t real. The dream, what happened in it- That must have been a simulation.  _ A previous run.  _

Except something went wrong with the usual process.  Judging from… how well-tuned the simulation is, how he’s not supposed to know anything… he shouldn’t be able to remember anything from yesterday. That meant memory removal _hadn’t_ _worked_ for some reason. 

The call, with the  _ code _ \- clearly, he must have escaped the… the simulation before. Then. Set up something to help him escape again? Sabotaged the memory-wipe, too?

According to himself, he can’t trust anyone here. Not even Sousuke. 

Hopefully, there will be more instructions he’s left for himself.

Right now… He should probably escape the lab. Then the building. 

Is there anything that could be useful to him here?

He casts a look around.

Well, not here. There doesn’t seem to be much of value, just stacks of replica books, crates of… other replicas of things in his replicated apartment, like frayed wires and food and bottles of sake. A small fridge filled with perfectly identical apples. Copies of Yoruichi’s note must be laying in some small pile here.

Is she in on this, too?

The wrench is a comforting weight in his hand. That’s something  _ real _ . 

He picks his way through the stacks of crates, and walks through the only visible path out of the area.

There’s the outside of the fake hallway, judging by the doors. And there, the ‘roof’. A massive glass cube with a helicopter model inside. Glass… must be the same as in his apartment, displaying perfectly  _ realistic _ views of the city.

He walks around it. There’s two entrances to the roof; the apartment one, and the TranStar one. The TranStar entrance has the corridor-outside, too, but there’s a gap where a wall has not slid in place to separate the right half of the corridor from the left. Clearly, to save space - the corridor with the lifts on the ‘roof’ and the ‘lower floor’ are really the same corridor. Just remodelled.

The mimicking monsters might still be in that area.

Kisuke grips the wrench tighter, walking through the corridor. The lights here don’t work properly either. Most of them, anyway.

The door to the security booth is open. Good. The booth is the access to the rest of this simulation lab. As long as he keeps an eye out, and prods everything with the wrench before picking it up, he should be safe.

Emergency lighting is working here, just enough that he doesn’t need to use the flashlight. And the ‘testing rooms’ are still well lit, illuminating the desks and equipment in front of them.

The place is a mess. Most of the chairs are knocked over, papers spilling everywhere. Signs of panic, of a struggle, of people running away. No signs of bodies. 

Not at first glance, anyway. The smell of decay doesn’t linger here, however, so perhaps there were no casualties here. Or maybe the corpses are too fresh? Judging from Patricia… Whatever those monsters do to the corpses, it makes them decay and break down quite a bit faster than Kisuke’d have expected.

He pauses to listen to any sign of movement. 

The lab is dead silent.

Looking at the testing rooms, from the outside is… odd. Only… days? Hours ago? He was in there, running through the simulation, like a lab rat.

The cube room has  _ four _ cubes out. 

He can only remember there being three, earlier. Walking over to the glass, he frowns.

One of the cubes twitches. And transforms.

The black... thing, the mimic, launches itself at the glass, one limb striking at it. It doesn’t crack. The thing tries, again. And again.

The glass refuses to budge.

Why had they made the glass so effective for monster-containment? It couldn’t possibly have been for him. What else were they putting through the simulation?

The mimic gathers its strength again, rearing up on two limbs.

_ Crack. _

_ Shit _ . The next strike would shatter it.

The wrench is heavy. Maybe heavy  _ enough _ that if he hits the center of the monster, it’ll be smashed to bits. And won’t kill him.

The glass shatters.

Time to test that theory.

It scuttles to him, just as Kisuke swings, smashing the body right into the floor.

_ Squelch. _

Bits of legs and blood splatter all over the floor, leaving a black stain where the monster was crushed.

Hopefully it doesn’t release any toxic gas upon death. Or if its blood is toxic, hopefully it doesn’t evaporate at these temperatures.

The… flesh looks  _ odd _ . It’s not quite pure black, more like… solid oil, shimmering, almost, with other colours. And it’s not smooth - more like many dark vines twisted together to form one mass. A bit more like oddly-textured tree roots than, say, octopus tentacles. It does smell somewhat like fresh seafood, however. Seafood with a hint of petrol.

Grimacing, he moves on.

There’s more workstations here. Cables spilling from the test room walls. To connect some kind of monitoring devices to the computers?

Light spills out from a half-closed door in the left corner of the room. Dodging workstations with switched off or broken computers, he approaches it. There’s no sound coming from inside.

He gently kicks it open, ready to hit something with a wrench if he has to.

There’s a large glass cylinder in the middle of the room, the surface flickering with odd light. Some kind of reinforcement to it, possibly. And in the middle of the cylinder is a chair. It bears some resemblance to a dentist’s chair - if a dentist chair came with multiple clamps to secure each arm and leg, large bands for the chest, and smaller bands for the neck and head, to keep the subject in place. And if behind a dentist’s chair stood a wicked-looking, skeletal structure meant to do  _ something _ to the strapped down person, armed with wicked needles and assorted implements.

A computer screen in the corner shines brightly. Could be worthwhile to check it out, since it’s working.

There’s a yellow sticky note on the wall behind the computer. 

“ _ Password: SzayelisCreepy0.0” _

Some people’s sense of security, really. What kind of forgetful idiots does his brother hire, exactly? At least it’s a benefit to him - now he doesn’t have to waste time hacking it.

“ _ Functions: A. Activate additional restraints. B. Release subject. C. Engage suppression field. D. Disengage field. E. Insert neuromod. F. Extract neuromod.” _

Either the procedure was painful, or the subjects were prone to resisting. Or both.

“ _ Emails - 2 New Emails.” _

“ _ From: Sousuke Aizen-Yu. To: Sim. Labs Members _

_ “Re: Morning Incident. _ _  
_ _ “Due to the breach, full lockdown protocols are initiated for the Psychotronics Division, all simulations labs, and nearby areas. Operate with extreme caution. Escort Consultants to SafeZone-Lobby. Do not approach any escaped test subjects. Avoid Mercury-class subjects at all costs. Mention incident only to those with Clearance Level Upsilon. _

_ “Best regards and stay safe, _ _  
_ _ “Sousuke Aizen-Yu, CEO” _

Presuming he’s one of the test subjects… why on earth would he be classified as  _ dangerous _ ?

Well. Maybe he isn’t. The reflection in the mirror showed that he’s not really aged since he last saw it - he can’t have been here long. Maybe it’s a training thing for Talos.

Maybe.

Whatever the case, Safe Zone Lobby sounds like the place to go. Perhaps someone could explain what is going on.

Second email.

“ _ From: Vera Lazareva. To: Akon. _

_ “Re: brain fritters flavour sweet and sour _

“ _ I know that Doctor Urahara-Yu had ordered that his brain be pristince and unaltered for the reception of the new neuromods. I know that means extracting  _ all _ the neuromods - including the first one, from alllllll the way back. And yeah, I  _ know _ that neuromod extraction hard-resets the brain to the moment of the installation. It’s impossible to separate the changes the mod makes from normal memory formation. _

_ “I’ve only been working here for two weeks - have only run the neuromod-extraction after the sims about a dozen times. But something feels wrong here. I’ve asked him a couple of questions, watched a few runs - his memories,  _ all _ his memories are damaged. Then there’s the random moments of slowed down reactions, tremors in his hands, moments when he can’t seem to concentrate on anything. This indefinite testing - it’s frying his brain! Kurotsuchi’s, too - though there, the damage is barely noticeable right now. _

_ “I know Boss-Creep says it’s all ok. But I don’t like this. You were Kurotsuchi’s friend. What do you think? _

_ “Don’t tell anyone I think this. _

_ “Vera.” _

So. Kurotsuchi is also an unknowing participant. Interesting. Useful too, maybe, if he runs into him.

Maybe those whispers earlier were because of the neuromods, some weird ability that they're supposed to grant. Or maybe his brain is fried so badly that he’s steadily going very, very crazy.

Kisuke frowns. “ _ I know that Doctor Urahara...” _

He consented to this? Despite this seemingly being an untested process? That… doesn’t sound like him. Why would he have those... recordings? January? 

Why would he tell himself to  _ escape _ , if this testing is what he wanted?

Well. Hopefully he’ll find the answers. Soon.

An exit. He’s looking for an exit from this lab. A map of this place too, maybe.

He shouldn’t linger here. Not if there’s those dangerous test subjects wandering around the place.

The labs are only half-lit, but Kisuke spies a staircase beyond where the testing rooms are.

Perhaps it leads to an exit.

Passing by the fourth testing room, he notes that Bellamy’s corpse- or maybe just unconscious body, perhaps - was moved. Not even any _scent_ remains. Is there a morgue here, somewhere nearby? Something tells him neither the ambulance or police would have been invited _here_.

The walls nearby show sign of being struck by bullets. Someone shot at the monster? There’s a trace of something  _ burnt _ in the air.

A quiet  _ thud _ . Movement in the corner of his vision. 

A rolling mug.

He can leave it alone. Or he can let a mimic sneak up on him later because he hadn’t dealt with it  _ now _ .

As silently as he can, Kisuke creeps over to the mug, and prods it with the wrench. No reaction. 

Not a mimic then - but maybe  _ moved _ by one. 

Rolling trajectory, rolling trajectory… Aha, there’s another mug over there. And  _ that _ one is probably the mimic, which displaced the original mug by turning into its twin.

Creeping over, Kisuke raises the wrench high, and brings it down harshly.

The mug shatters, breaking the silence. He freezes.

The nearby waste-basket morphs into a black shape.

A tendril lunges out to wrap around his neck. Kisuke doesn’t think before moving. The wrench hits the limb hard, dissuading it from doing that, and the mimic scuttles back. The vine-like composition - no bones to break. Of course. Right.

It pauses. Two limbs suddenly lengthen as it pushes itself to stand on them. The other two strike at him, turning as straight and sharp as spears.

Kisuke grabs hold of one of them, which starts wrapping around his arm. Dodges the other. Hits the body with the wrench.

The mimic collapses back into a smaller form, pressing itself to the floor, trying to run.

Another strike. Black flesh and blood splatter all over the floor.

Kisuke can hear his heartbeat, feel how  _ unsteady _ his breathing is.

That was  _ close _ . Too close. He’s not even out of the lab yet. It would be pathetic to die  _ here _ , right? 

Careful. He has to be more careful.

Gulping in air, he steps over a shred of mimic-limb lying on the floor, and heads to the stairs.

The metal groans and creaks under his feet. Far too loud in the complete silence of the lab. Kisuke grits his teeth. 

It’s probably not that loud. Not loud enough to draw more mimics to him, anyway. Not if he keeps moving, instead of being a sitting duck.

The light, what little there is of it, keeps flickering in this section. But taking out the flashlight that’s part of the uniform set...The light would make him so much more noticeable.

Trying not to trip over the indistinct shapes of thing scattered on the walkway, Kisuke creeps forward. There’s a much larger dark shape on the walkway, some distance away. Humanoid.

A corpse, most likely.

If this person hadn’t been an actor in the simulation, like Patricia, chances are there might be something useful on their corpse.

It’s too dark to read what’s on the dead woman’s name tag, and Kisuke feels an odd  _ regret _ . He would have liked to have known who she was. If those mimics infest this place that much… no one would be able to come back here to know she’s dead for quite a while.

Gingerly, Kisuke starts to go through the woman’s pockets.    
Bag of candy. Frayed wires. A keycard for “Simulation Lab A - Neuromod Division Access”. A transcribe recording chip clutched in a waxy hand.

Maybe it’s an  _ intrusion… _ but he needs information. That recording, maybe of her very last words, might have something useful.

He plays it.

_ “Doctor Szayel, how long are we supposed to contain Subject 0000-1A-T for?” _ The voice is unfamiliar. The dead woman?

_ “Until the team from Psychotronics arrives. The direct route there is locked. They shall have to go through the Neuromod division.” _ Szayel. Sousuke’s partner. Kisuke frowns. There’s a hint of unfamiliar  _ coldness _ , of  _ callousness.  _   
_ “There’s Typhon here, there is no way for us to stay safe and secure-” _ __  
_ “You will stay in the lab for as long as possible. That thing gets out? Half the station might end up dead.” _ __  
_ “Shouldn’t we just kill it then?” _ __  
_ “This specimen is more valuable than your life. Understood?” _ _  
_ __ “Understood.”

The recording crackles into silence in his ear.

Well. She had stayed here as long as she could, it seems. And paid for it with her life.

What could possibly make this  _ Typhon _ so  _ valuable _ that she’d stay here trying to contain them rather than flee?   
He’ll still call them mimics. Typhon might be the proper name, but mimic feels more... accurate.

There’s nothing that he can find. Time to move on. 

A lit doorway catches his eye. An exit?   
The ring of an incoming call startles him, enough to make him grip the wrench so tightly his hand hurt.

“Kisuke _.” _

It’s January’s voice. His own voice.

_“_ You’re at the decontamination checkpoint that leads to the Neuromod division. Hopefully, you’ve found a keycard to the door by now. If you haven’t, there might still be a spare lying around somewhere. Look around the workstations, the drawers. There might be corpses around - those might have a keycard.  
“From the main Neuromod division room - the ridiculously opulent one, you can’t mistake it for anything else - go to the Lobby. Then find your office. You’ll get all the answers you need there. Keep an eye out. If Sousuke contacts you- don’t reply. Try not to linger and explore too much. You don’t exactly have the luxury of time. Good luck.”

The call ends abruptly.

He has so many  _ questions _ , now. And not nearly enough answers.

The door is locked, needing a keycard. At least, he already has one.

The dead woman was probably on her way  _ here _ , trying to  _ escape _ . Before she was killed. Maybe she took too long to escape because she was trying to follow orders, before realising she should look out for herself. 

If she has any family, how the hell will TranStar explain...

Kisuke grimaces.

No time for thoughts like that. Not until he’s somewhere safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to share thought, emotions, or screaming confusion!


	3. Neuromod Division

Crouching down behind the couch, Ichigo  _ almost _ reconsiders his decision to leave the  _ safe zone _ accessible by one of the staircases in the ridiculously grandiose lobby of Talos I. A metre of metal between you and an infestation of monsters is very appealing, when you’re  _ pretty sure _ two of the the three tall flower pots you have to pass are actually mimics.

Damn. These. Mimics.

One of them at a time is doable. Two? Two is harder.

He risks another glance around the couch. Neither of the three suspicious plant pots blocking his way have moved, or are doing the tell-tale shivering.

Still not proof that they’re safe. Because who the  _ fuck _ would place three pots there like that.

Ichigo curses under his breath.

This is the only way to the rest of the lobby. And he can’t go back. He has a mission to complete.

The mimics don’t have visible eyes. Or ears. Or any sensory organs whatsoever. However they perceive the world, it’s not the way normal living beings do.

The glint of two glasses and an ashtray on the table by the couch catches Ichigo’s eye. If he could, say, throw a glass as far as possible across the hall to draw away the mimics from his position, and then run for the next cover… Or hit the plant pots, to test which ones are the fakes...

Both options seem like they might draw a  _ lot _ of attention. But it’s not like he has a particularly efficient weapon to deal with that attention. A wrench is good for a one-on-one whack-a-mole game with a mimic. That’s been tested in the maintenance tunnel where he found a wrench, and a mimic posing as a wrench. And picked up the wrong one. But it only has  _ one _ business end, and there seem to be  _ two _ mimics up ahead.

Well. He has to get moving,  _ now _ .

There’s no time to waste.

The glass has the TranStar logo on it, and Ichigo  _ almost _ regrets the fact that this will probably just be the start of a very long sequence of vandalism on Talos. He’s already gotten into pickpocketing here; he doesn’t need more more bad habits. 

Ichigo hurls it.

The glass shatters on the floor. For a second, it doesn’t seem to have worked as a distraction.

The closest two plants pots shimmer and transform, scuttling away to investigate the noise like some creepy four-legged spiders.

As quietly as he can, Ichigo hurries after them. But instead of going down the few steps to the indented floor in the middle of the lobby, he turns right. The waist-high balcony to stop people from tripping into the center of the room is solid, wooden. It’s lined by sweet-smelling plants on the other side of it - fortunate, providing even more cover for him - and there’s no small objects in his path that could potentially be mimics. And on his right is a wall - glass, mostly, but with a wooden section that’s a bit lower than the balcony. Damn. There’s hoping there’s not going to be too many mimics to see him through the glass.

Sighing, he tucks the wrench into his belt, and starts to crawl on his hands and knees.

It’s quiet, no sounds of nearby scuttling, even as he can hear his own heartbeat every time something _shifts_ in the middle of the room, or behind the wall to his right. A wall that is mostly _unfortified_ _glass panes_ , and won’t stop a hungry mimic for longer than a moment.

Pausing for the umpteenth time, Ichigo checks his right pocket. The access card for the Neuromod Division stolen from one of the fleeing employees is still in place. 

He notices an odd,  _ burnt _ smell coming from… somewhere further on.

Surely not a  _ fire?  _ Perhaps a still-lit cigar. 

There’d be smoke if there was a fire. Right? An alarm would go off, surely.

Ichigo can  _ feel _ the hair on the back of his neck stand on end from the stress. The earlier peek over the railing that showed him the corpse of a Talos employee propped against the balcony on the other end of the room isn’t helping.

The burning smell is stronger now - tinged with something like petrol and melting metal, or maybe really hot earth. Or lava.

Ichigo’s not sure he really wants to get closely acquainted with its source.

“The shape… what is the shape in the glass? What do you see in the glass?”

He freezes. 

The voice is harsh, crackling,  _ inhuman _ \- or maybe something that  was human, but isn’t anymore. Coming from behind him - from the  _ room _ behind him. Footsteps, too - how hadn’t he hear them before? And a weird  _ crackling _ ...

Thank god the glass doesn’t go  _ that _ low, or he might have already been spotted by… whatever that is.

Ichigo dares to sneak a peek over the wooden frame of the glass. And flinches away. Passing  _ just _ by the window is a tall, humanoid figure, completely black - seemingly made of the same strange, glistening material thing as the mimics. And it’s on  _ fire _ . 

Or not on fire, exactly, so much as… the fire runs over its skin, and  _ through _ the thing, almost like blood, or veins. Halting on the spot, the thing looks around.

Ichigo catches, just for a moment, a glimpse of glowing white spots on its face, where the eyes should be.

“I used to wish we weren’t alone in the universe. That there was life out there. Now I wish I had never...”

The thing resumes patrolling, turning away from Ichigo. Staring around the room, Ichigo spots a large, human-shaped burn on the ground.

Clearly, this thing, this… ghost? Zombie? The voice… It was human, once. Maybe. More like a  _ phantom _ , then. A remnant, a shadow with no mind - and probably as murderous as the mimics.

Honestly, what it resembles most is a balrog. Except smaller. And wingless. 

His wrench won’t kill it - he’d get fried by the flames before he did any significant damage.

So. Avoiding it like the plague then.

Resisting the urge to crawl like a worm to be as concealed as physically possible, Ichigo grits his teeth, and tries to not think about becoming a human fritter if he fucks up in the next five minutes.

Maybe it’s the universe punishing him for being so  _ happy _ that the first mission objective had been so  _ easy _ to complete. He hadn’t even had to  _ do _ anything. And now the second mission objective has him in constant mortal peril.

This wasn’t exactly what he had signed up for. 

Right. Onwards.

The staircase leading to the second floor - the section of it only accessible by that one _specific_ _goddamn_ _staircase_ , is very close - almost close enough to tempt Ichigo to abandon caution and run for it.

A lobby with a three-storey high ceiling, and multiple staircases on both sides to access the two floors above. While that does allow for a glass-paned window taller and wider than a house, right now it is just  _ inconvenient _ . Far,  _ far _ too much open space.

At least the floors and staircases are carpeted, muffling his footsteps.

No mimics, on the stairs, either. 

Maybe they  _ do _ have enough brains to figure out most humans would be on the floor? Or maybe they didn’t stick around, pursuing prey rather than waiting for it. 

Director Aizen-Yu should have made the place much,  _ much _ more secure if these things had been kept caged on the station. And oh  _ yeah _ , maybe he should have warned his guests they were all in peril of these bloody things breaking out and trying to kill them all at any moment.

At least his family’s safe, what with Kyouraku’s men guarding them, and Ichigo having warned them in a call. They know what to look out for.

Aizen  _ might _ have said their security detail didn’t need to come to Telos armed to the teeth. 

And the security detail  _ might _ had figured that ‘w _ hat he doesn’t know, can’t hurt him’ _ . And proceeded to sneak in as many guns and knives as they could carry with them.

Not that Aizen knows what any of them are  _ really  _ here for. Getting neuromods, arranging contracts, having a look over the testing and manufacturing facilities… Useful information, sure, but not the main objective.

Investigating the disappearance of his younger brother, Kisuke Urahara-Yu.

That’s what they’re  _ really _ here for.

Looking back at the main floor of the lobby, picking out odd, displaced, or slightly  _ shivering _ objects, Ichigo sighs.

If only he had one of those nice shotguns at his disposal right now. Would let him put all those hours of training with his crazy, explosion-loving aunt to good use. Or even a silenced pistol, to pick off the mimics from a nice, safe distance.

The pile of furniture blocking the entry to what Ichigo  _ thinks _ might have been an office of the human resources department is even larger than it was when he passed it last time.

Good that he hadn’t tried going that way.

He casts a critical eye at the items scattered around the short corridor leading to the massive metal door. There’s several couches. A workstation. An overturned table and scattered folders. A couple of mugs.

Nothing’s out of place  _ enough _ for Ichigo to go bother it with a wrench.

He can deal with it later, right?

The scanner on the massive door accepts the keycard Ichigo offers to it. The two halves pull back with nary a groan.

Someone’s been oiling these hinges well.

Maybe they should have spent all that time ensuring the proper containment of mimis.

The door automatically shuts behind him. No sneak attacks from that direction, then.

Movement catches his eye. Two mimics, scurrying into a room diagonally across from Ichigo. Why would… 

_ Shit. There’s probably a person trapped in there. _

Swearing, Ichigo runs. He leaps over the three steps into the middle of the room, almost slips on the smooth marble, and continues.

He can see- three, no, four mimics in a darkened corner of the room - one on the wall, preparing for a sneak attack, the other three taking turns to strike at the person trapped in the corner.

There’s no  _ time _ to think of a strategy - only time to decide that he’ll help.

Ichigo hurls himself into the room, swinging the wrench at the nearest black limbs.

The sneaking mimic lunges at the person. It’s too fast for Ichigo to scream out a warning. Black limbs wrap around the person’s neck.

Ichigo bashes one of the mimics into the ground, hard enough to kill it. But the remaining two swarm the victim.

And are promptly sent flying back across the room. 

In pieces.

The closest lights  _ explode _ , shards of glass raining down and plunging the corner of the room into darkness.

Ichigo doesn’t have time to even  _ blink _ .

Something crashes into him, pinning him down to the ground. His neck is being squeezed by something cold, tight enough to hurt. Tight enough that he can’t breathe.

The wrench is yanked out of his hand. There’s a faint clatter.

Scrambling in his pockets for anything,  _ anything _ that could be used as a weapon, Ichigo manages to close his hand around something metal. The transcribe.

If he can hit something,  _ anything _ -

He pulls it out, getting ready to swing.

The weight on his chest, the- whatever it was constricting his neck, vanish.

Gingerly, he sits up, taking desperate lungfuls of air. Air that stinks of petrol and seafish and ozone. Dead mimics. His heartbeat is  _ deafening _ . 

Ichigo squints. And  _ sees _ it. The person that was being attacked by the mimics. The thing that attacked him.

Long black… vines? No, they’re more like mimic limbs, more like tree  _ tendrils _ sprouting out of their head - long,  _ long  _ tendrils, visible in the dark only because of how the tendrils reflect even the slightest light. With the time to actually  _ look _ , the blackness shimmers like water, the tendrils almost looking like they’re made of liquid - or smoke, even.

And the thing is curled up in the corner, the strange limbs pulled close to it. It’s  _ shaking _ . 

It looks  _ terrified _ , head turned to stare at a fixed point. At his hand.

What on earth…

Ichigo looks down at the transcribe in his hand.

For whatever reason, the thing is  _ terrified _ of the transcribe.

Except, as far as Ichigo had seen earlier, the mimics don’t show any fear. Don’t  _ feel _ any fear, probably. What with lacking an actual brain and all. The mimics keep attacking even when hurt. The mini-balrog didn’t seem particularly observant or sapient.

Slowly, he moves the transcribe up, closer to his head.

Sure enough, the thing runs its head to look at him, and he can finally see its face, even in the gloom.

It’s Doctor Urahara.

Except, Ichigo’s pretty sure Urahara’s eyes weren’t a bright, shining red before.

Well. At least they’re not glowing white, not like the mini-balrog’s eyes. Still human.

Kind of.

He doesn’t  _ look _ like he’ll atack Ichigo any time soon. There’s time to think.

Maybe he’s still human. Or maybe he’s slowly turning into a mini-Balrog. Except if he was, why would he kill the mimics? Why would the mimics attack  _ him _ , if the conversion process is already happening?  And why would his eyes turn a different  _ colour _ , instead of starting to shine?

Possibly, this- change is prompted by being in great danger. Like a Hulk transformation.

Maybe it’s a result of whatever has been done to him in the year since he disappeared.

In which case, keeping Urahara  _ afraid _ is not going to help communicating with him.

Moving slowly, gingerly, Ichigo puts down the transcribe, and gently pushes it, letting it slide away from him. Not  _ quite _ out of his reach - but no longer looking like an immediate threat.

Hopefully.

“My name is Ichigo Kurosaki. I am one of the consultants who was brought in to watch your simulation run today.”

Urahara curls up into an even smaller ball, red eyes wide. Frightened.

Okay. Mentions of simulations elicit fear. Whatever was really going on there… well. Seems like Ichigo’s earlier  _ bad feeling _ about them might be justified.

Still, no response. Just dead silence. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Doctor Urahara.”

Pause. 

Two long black tendrils snake forward, reaching for Ichigo. They’re thin, thin enough that they can’t strangle him. Probably not a threat.

He doesn’t move, even as the tips brush his temples.

A sudden sharp pain lances through his head. Ichigo hisses, teeth gritted so as not to scream. Drawing attention from more mimics right now would be bad.

It’s like something’s  _ sifting _ through his brain, thoughts and images flashing before his eyes.

Abruptly, it stops.

Gasping for breath, Ichigo stares at Urahara, who seems… less blindly terrified now, and more... wary. More inquisitive, maybe. The tendrils draw back.

“Doctor Urahara-Yu? Can you speak? Can you understand me?” Ichigo’s voice is a little breathless; echoes of the sharp pain still  _ linger _ . 

“...Yes.”

The voice is  _ not _ the one he heard earlier. It’s high-pitched, melodic, feminine, if sounding hoarse and strained from  _ disuse _ . That’s pretty odd. Unless...

“You are Doctor Urahara, right? Not a mimic pretending to be him, or something? Or a clone?”

There’s a pause, like Urahara’s mulling the question over.

“Partially.”

Well, that’s not… helpful.

“Partially  _ what? _ ”

Red eyes stare at him, unblinking. Calculating.

“Kisuke.”

“So you are… partially Urahara?”

In reply, Urahara makes a so-so gesture with his hand. Taps his head. “Human brain.” Then points at the black tendrils. “Other brain.”

“You have two brains?”

Again, a so-so gesture.

Ichigo frowns.

“Are they two different parts of one system, then?”

A nod.

Okay, that’s… interesting. If a mimic has been grafted to someone, and can now use a person’s body,  _ speak _ ...

“Are you a different  _ person,  _ then?”

Pause. Urahara slowly shakes his head.

“Duplicate.”

“So the mimic grafted to you doesn’t have a personality?”

“Not mimic.”

“Then how…”

“Mutation.”

 

Okay. Weird. But his first hunch of  _ Hulk _ might actually be right then. Here’s hoping Urahara is enough of a nerd to catch the reference.

“Are you like the Hulk, then? The mutation kind of… made a part of you split off? And it’s in control when you change.”

Urahara blinks at him. Ichigo’s heart sinks. Okay, maybe that was too far of a-

“Yes. No.”

“Do you… have a different name too, then? What should I call you?”

Red eyes  _ stare _ at him. Urahara tilts his head in confusion.

Surely, this can’t be the first time someone’s asked. Or maybe it’s a stupid question.

“Subject 0000-1A-T.”

...Shit. 

The whole  _ simulation _ thing, the whole  _ testing  _ thing, really,  _ really _ stinks now. Why the hell would he only be referred to as a  _ subject _ ? Surely, the people here would at least call him Urahara, if he doesn’t have another name to offer them? 

“Is that what you’ve been called by the scientists here, or is it what you call yourself?”

The reply is barely louder than a breath. 

“...Benihime.”

Oh. Well. The voice-

Okay. 

“Benihime… That’s a nice name. Pretty.” 

The tension in Benihime’s shoulders seems to ease a little.

“Who did this to you? How?”

“...Complicated.”

“Can you explain?”

Benihime shakes his-  _ her _ head.

“Could your other self explain?”

Another no.

“Neuromod removal. Forced amnesia.”

...What the  _ fuck _ . But that- well, the ‘temporary memory block drug’ bullshit had sounded like bullshit the moment it was shared with them by the guy in charge of the lab.

Red eyes close briefly.

“Remove all - reset to beginning.”

And they’d been told that the first neuromod was injected in 2032. That’d be why the sim was set to that day in 2032. 

So, neuromod removal… Hard resets the brain back to when it was first added? That would explain why, according to TranStar, neuromods  _ can’t _ be removed. They can. But the public would go nuts if they knew that neuromods came with a memory-wiping bug. So much shit could be done with that.

And, well, Urahara really wouldn’t know what’s been going on for the past year then. If neuromods are constantly added and removed. Wouldn’t be able to explain why he  _ disappeared _ . Wouldn’t be able to tell anything about the two years working on Talos before that.

Except, Benihime seems to know  _ something _ \- unless… Mimic-like brain isn’t wiped, and works like a backup. But how did they just grow  _ now _ ?

“You hadn’t had these… er, tendrils earlier.”

Benihime raises her eyebrows. The tendrils shift, and move, and suddenly most of them are…  _ gone _ , warping out of sight.

Warping exactly like mimic limbs, which  _ isn’t creepy at all.  _ But is does explain why they hadn’t been visible earlier.

“How long have you been around?” 

“Year.”

Okay, and that brings him to the next question, because one-word answers are hella hard to work with.

“Is English not your native language, or is speaking hard for a different reason?”

Benihime frowns, staring a little to the left of Ichigo. Thinking. Points at the uniform’s collar. “Electric.” Gestures at the transcribe on the floor. “Remote. Speech… punished.”

Ichigo  _ refuses _ to hiss or clench his hands into fists. Even though he really, really want to.There’ll be time to get pissed at the people in charge later.

“My office. Now.”

He blinks at the non-consequitur. Why is Benihime insisting on going to an office? “There’s somewhere else we could go, another safe-”

Benihime gestures at the tendrils. “Unstable.” Shudders. “Must stabilise.  _ Soon _ .”

O- _ kay _ .

“Is your office close?”

Benihime nods. “Safe.”

Thinking back to how easily she had just pinned him and started strangling him- Frankly, he doesn’t want to try  _ making  _ Benihime go anywhere. And… Benihime probably knows this place better than him, anyway. If the office is close, the two of them can hide there until Kyouraku’s men can find them and escort them to safety.

Objective… what, three? Establish a good connection with Urahara? Is a success. Kind of.

“Okay. Yeah. We can go there.” 

Ichigo tries to stand up. And nearly falls over, his right leg asleep from how long he’s been crouching, talking to Benihime. Long enough that he’s even used to the dead mimic stink now.

He reaches over for his transcribe. Benihime shudders, but makes no move to stop him from putting it back in his pocket.

“You should probably lead, since you know where your office is - and I don’t.”

“Yes.”

She stands up, slowly, and walks around the other side of the table in the middle of the room. Keeping her distance from him. Tensing when he tries to follow her out of the room too quickly. 

He’s gotta keep his distance. Okay, that’s fine. She doesn’t have much reason to trust him. Not if the only humans she’s ever met have treated her like a  _ thing _ .

Ichigo pauses to pick up his own wrench, and the one Urahara had.

Double-wielding wrenches and human-alien hybrids. The day’s  _ just _ going to keep getting weirder, won’t it?

Staying several steps behind her, Ichigo watches how Benihime moves.

It’s like she’s not used to walking. Or her own body. Her walk is fluid, covering space fast enough to prompt Ichigo to jog to keep up, but she moves her head jerkily, swiveling it from side to side, her posture just  _ odd _ . 

Apparently, she got a keycard to the division somewhere - she had to have, of course, if she managed to leave the sim lab (or, well, Urahara had), and the door slides open. The short corridor beyond is still a mess, but it doesn’t seem like anything’s  _ moved. _

They’re halfway to the staircase when Benihime  _ freezes _ . Spins around.

There’s a clap of displaced air as something from above Ichigo is snatched right out of the air and slammed into the ground by a long black tendril.

_ Fuck. _

Ichigo hadn’t thought mimics could climb ceilings like freaking  _ geckos _ . Walls, yeah. Ceilings, no.

The mimic is still writhing, and unable to distinguish it from Benihime, Ichigo can’t risk trying to hit it with a wrench. Unless…

He raises one of the wrenches in preparation to strike, and makes a shooing motion at Benihime.

She blinks. Nods. Lets go.

The mimic tries to lunge after the retreating tendril, but Ichigo brings down the wrench right as it moves. 

_ Splat _ .

“Thank you,” Ichigo mouths at Benihime. She blinks in acknowledgement, and turns back around.

Benihime goes the same route as Ichigo had used to get to the Neuromod division, moving faster than Ichigo - but managing to move  _ quietly  _ with more ease than him. Or maybe the two wrenches in his belt were  _ really _ not helping. 

The sounds of the patrolling mini-balrog are distant when they pass that room, and Ichigo breathes a sigh of relief.

They don’t have any problems reaching the other end of the lobby - the wall that’s  _ way  _ across from the window.

And halt, Benihime staring at the staircase across the hall. 

“Your office, it’s accessible from that staircase?” Ichigo whispers.

She nods, and gestures up at the large glass windows to the room on the highest floor here, overlooking the entire lobby.

Well. Urahara  _ is _ the adopted second child of the Yus, the founders of TranStar. And the second in line to lead the company; as the vice-president and director of research, perhaps it’s not surprising his office would be… somewhere like  _ that _ .

Black tendrils rise, and flicker through the air, Benihime not moving. Why... Oh. If they have the same sensory abilities as mimic limbs, perhaps she’s capable of detecting mimics up ahead. Or people. Or something.

There’s still those two from earlier that could be lurking somewhere around the place. Ichigo looks around, trying to see if there’s anything  _ off _ .

Something cold and smooth curls lightly around his wrist, tugging at it. A black tendril trying to get his attention. Benihime’s eyebrows are raised when he looks at her, and she gestures for him to follow her. The tendril withdraws slowly. Almost  _ reluctantly _ .

Benihime starts to inch forward, down the four steps into the indented floor.

There’s a click. A whirr.

“Scanning target… Typhon material detected,” says a robotic voice.

Benihime throws herself back and to the side to avoid the barrage of- blasts? bullets? That are spat out of a turret standing  _ right _ at the base of the stairs.

Which Ichigo was  _ sure _ had been empty earlier.

Okay. Getting past this might need some thought.

Except...

Benihime’s gesturing at him to go on ahead?

“Go.”

She moves past him, going up the staircase. But she said the access-

In moments, she’s on the second flight, right by the door to the IT security room. And then she’s  _ over the balcony _ , standing on the tiny decor-ledgel, pressing herself against the wall. Moving smoothly, surely, she starts crossing the distance to the balcony of the open balcony to the room on the upper floor. On the other side of which is a similar ledge.

Holy shit.

Ichigo restrains the urge to whistle. That’s… impressive, considering how fucking narrow the ledge is.

And he can just cross the room normally, now. Which he should, because it’d be ridiculous if Benihime, going the harder route, gets there first. Best get going.

He passes smoking shreds of mimic, scattered around the floor. Victims of the defensive turret, clearly.

Ichigo casts a look brief look at the corridor on the left, leading to the Shuttle Bay door.

In the office, at least they’ll be pretty close to there. Wherever his family and the others are right now, they won’t have to go completely out of their way to pick them up on the way out.

Benihime is waiting for him at the landing, going through the pockets of a corpse lying on the floor, its arm reaching out to the medical bay door. The door locked, demanding a pass-code. Damn. That’d have been a nice source of useful things.

She finishes and stands up, stowing something away in one of the  _ many  _ Talos uniform pockets, and continues going up.

On the floor above, there’s no door to the corridor on the right, simply… more open corridor. Damn. More doors would have meant more security. More safety.

“Scanning target for-” 

Benihime steps back, hissing, and the electronic voice stops.

Damn. Another turret.

Maybe… maybe there’s an off-button on it, or something.

“I’ll go ahead, check that out.”

The first room to the right is an office, the second, in the middle, some kind of an unlit storage room, and at the end of the corridor on the left - there’s a workstation in an open office. A secretary’s workstation, probably. And right in front of it is the inconvenient turret.

“Scanning target for Typhon material. No typhon material detected.”

Gingerly, Ichigo approaches it, walking around to its back.

The turret’s head swivels around every once in a while. Scanning for movement. Or lifesigns. Or…  _ typhon _ . Is that what the mimics and mini-balrogs collectively called?

It’s not plugged in to anything, unfortunately. So turning it off like that it isn’t an option. Waiting for it to run out of power isn’t one either.

Not touching the turret, Ichigo examines its base. The thing isn’t big, almost like it’s meant to fold down into a transportable size. And there’s a button on top of the head. What if…

He gently presses down on the turret’s top.

The thing immediately starts folding, head sinking down, the stand folding in and up to make a box. 

Hopefully it isn’t going to activate by itself.

“I think it’s safe now,” he calls out.

Benihime slinks around the corner, watching the turret. It doesn’t open, or react in any way.

There’s a keypad by the office door. She hesitates, fingers hovering above it.

Shit. No way she doesn’t remember the code.

First combination doesn’t work. Neither does the second. Or the third.

Benihime turns to face him. Grimaces. “Forgot.”

Well. Shit.

“Maybe your secretary has it written down somewhere?”

“Possibly.”

“Then let’s start looking.”

The computer needs a password, so that’s not an option, but maybe a note, in one of the drawers…

Ichigo’s half-way through the first drawer, when Benihime reaches for the underside of the desk, and retrieves a sticky note.

“Is that-”

“Computer.”

Not as useful as it could be, but the computer  _ is  _ more likely to have important information like a door security code.

Ichigo catches a glimpse of the password written on the paper. “ _ AdorkableBossOMG.” _

He thinks of those glimpses of Urahara in the simulation, all wide, expressive grey eyes, an expression of earnest excitement and curiosity, that constant anxious half-smile, and has to forcibly wrestle his thoughts back to the task.

Well. That password isn’t  _ wrong _ .

But this is not the time for that kind of crap!

Benihime goes through the emails. Ichigo turns to look over her shoulder.

The first one’s subject line looks promising, at least.

“ _ From: Janet Chang. To: Maintenance _

_ “Re: Keycodes _

_ “Is there any way to make the passcodes for Vice-President Yu’s office easier to set and reset? Every time he comes by these days, he can’t remember what he decided on last time. And I can’t be here 24/7. _

_ “Best regards, _ _  
_ _ “Janet C.” _

Or not. Urahara being released from the labs at all, however… That  _ is _ odd. He’d be asking so many questions, if he couldn’t remember…

Unless there’s a way to restore memories. If only  _ partially _ . Ichigo can’t imagine that… whatever made Benihime be  _ like that _ , wouldn’t have made Urahara try to escape.

“ _ From: Sousuke Aizen-Yu. To: Janet Chang _

_ “Re: Office Passcode _

_ “I have heard of your recent troubles with my brother’s inattention. Set the office to passcode 1925. I will make certain he remembers it. _

_ “Thank you for your patience and good work. _

_ “Best regards, _

_ “Sousuke Aizen-Yu, CEO.” _

The passcode is right, this time, and the door slides open.

Urahara’s office is  _ big _ , the lacquered wood paneling on the walls the same as in the lobby. To fit the general aesthetic, probably.

There’s couches in the space in front of the window- _ wall _ looking over the Lobby, and there’s three steps leading to a slightly higher section of the office. The right wall is an indented floor to ceiling bookshelf, stuffed to the brim with books. There’s a section with shelves are removed, to make way for a hanging painting - a family portrait - and a couple of empty vases.

The large semi-circular desk in the center with two armchairs facing it, is almost  _ intimidating _ in its size. And it’s almost completely empty of any  _ personal _ possessions. Like it’s been only barely used.

Part of the second half of the left wall is missing, opening up to a small workshop area. One of the massive object-recycling machines that break down items into base materials is there- and so is a fabricator, screen shining with a multitude of available schematics. Just waiting for the materials to be loaded. The workshop tables, at least, looks used - there’s machinery components, wires and hard-drives and gears and what-not.

Then he sees it. A floating box robot, an operator, gliding out form under the desk.

“Hello, Doctor Kisuke Urahara and Doctor Ichigo Kurosaki. I am Yanvar.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have thoughts? Feelings? Love it? Hate it? Have questions? Leave a review!


	4. Chapter 4

_ [? time ago] _

  
Nemu carefully unlocks the maintenance hatch, making sure to move the handle so that it doesn’t squeak. Holding her breath, bit by bit, she opens the hatch, and looks around.

She can’t see any of the Typhon around - no phantoms, certainly, or weavers or technopaths or whatever other bullshit forms they come in, but that doesn’t mean there are no mimics around. And it’s not like she has a psychoscope to reveal them to her.

Maybe she should have stolen a psychoscope.

Maybe she should have stayed in the protected area. 

Maybe she should never have taken the offer to see how TranStar works, for a chance at getting funds for a private high school, and then a good university, and then a job at TranStar.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Fat lot of good ‘maybes’ are doing her now.

She crawls out of the tunnel, and carefully shuts the hatch behind her. Maybe mimics are clever enough to open it. But maybe they aren’t. 

She’s not going to make this any easier for them if she can help it.

There’s no signs of struggles as she creeps through this floor, however. Perhaps there weren’t any employees in this hall at the time, so the Typhon moved on to search for their prey.

Goddamnit but she really should have stolen a psychoscope. Urahara-Yu’s was still in storage, and the shitholes never checked on it. They’d have never noticed it going missing.

Well. What is not done, is _not_ _done_.

Peeking around a corner, and seeing nothing out of place, Nemu hurries towards the next maintenance hatch.

Why, oh  _ why _ , have the Typhon already managed to take the elevator out of commission. It’s not like she can use the G.U.T.S to get around - besides, with so much open space, it’ll get infested by Typhon far too easily.

So using maintenance tunnels to crawl from one floor to the next it is.

Never mind that where she’s going will probably have the highest Typhon concentration.

For now, at least - hopefully they’ll clear out once they’re out of food there. And getting to the cargo bay afterwards, and hopefully -  _ hopefully _ \- managing to escape before anyone on the outside finds out what’s going on, and decides to nuke the place as a preventative measure.

Which might be the safest option, for everyone else, sure, but she’s not fifteen yet, and she doesn’t want to die.

The gleam of the tracker on her wrist catches her eye while she opens the hatch, climbs in, and then closes it behind her.

She still can’t tell whether she should disable it or not.

If it’s active, then maybe someone could help rescue her later, knowing she’s still alive. But with this bracelet, anyone could track her location from a security station. And if the shitholes-in-charge find out she’s going where she’s going, they’ll order her capture personally.

Because like  _ hell _ is she actually supposed to know about the extent of the human experimentation crap going on in psychotronics. 

But really, what did they expect, leaving a computer science genius with any access to their personal laptops, and so  _ many _ potentially fascinating things to find out? She’s fourteen. They should have expected  _ snooping _ .

Nemu winces, remembering what she  _ saw _ . The files, the logs. The videos, and live video feeds.

Damn it. She can’t not do something about it, now that there’s an  _ opportunity _ .

She can’t not try to rescue the kids. And the rest.

The lighting in this tunnel is broken half way through, so she turns on her flashlight, holding it in her right hand. Her off-hand, because her left is busy with a wrench.

She’s gotta be careful. This one’s old, the battery won’t last long - and it takes longer to recharge with kinetic energy than it should, too. She shouldn’t waste it.

Half the lights on the next floor are out, and the rest are flickering. And it’s a large open office area.

Power outage, or Typhon sabotage?

Well, she’s not going to risk it.

Nemu riffles through the pockets and storage compartments of her uniform.

Some food, check. Bits of a basic first aid kit, check. Shotgun shells, in case she finds a shotgun. Her transcribe. 

The neuromod containing a backup of Kurotsuchi’s memories that she found hidden away on the station. One of them, anyway. The man was a  _ paranoiac _ .

At least he’ll get back his memories of working in this place. As far as she knows, Urahara never made this kind of back-up stuff. 

But  _ he _ hadn’t known what his brother was up to.

Nine full hypo injectors, check.

Good. She needs to use them sparingly - but there should be more around, should be some on any.. dead personnel that she finds.

She’ll need to use one after what she’s about to do.

Right. Deep breath. Concentrate. Deep, deep exhale, and- 

Now.

She sees the everything around her ripple, for just a second, light warping and twisting. 

The silence sounds louder, faint thrumming in the walls and fizzling lights all too loud now. Then she looks down at herself.

Good. She’s invisible now.

She has three minutes forty-seven seconds before her power will run out, and she’ll turn visible again.

Bless that experimental neuromod that she stole.

Nemu hurries through the desks and cubicles, staying low despite her invisibility, not sparing a glance at the flickering screens and desks. Oh, sure there could be plenty of useful things stored here, squirreled away by bored employees. But she doesn’t need anything  _ urgently _ .

A weird noise reaches her ears.

A weird kind of- rustling? Or water flowing?

Is there a burst pipe?

She cautiously straightens up, looking around. She shouldn’t be detected, not like this- but, well. Who knows with Typhon.

There’s no apparent source in this room- but, of course, her hearing is enhanced. Maybe she’s just hearing something from within the walls-

In a corridor leading away from the office area, she sees it. A mass of writhing black tendrils, like a ball of smoke, half-solid and twisting into different forms, it hangs there. Gold light trails behind it, spun out of thin air and forming a complex web.

A weaver. Maybe  _ the _ weaver, from psychotronics.

Or, worse. 

A new one. A second one.

It doesn’t notice her. Too far away, maybe. Or maybe her invisibility works on even the greater Typhon, not just phantoms and mimics.

One minute and two seconds.

She has to hurry.

With her eyes fixed on the weaver, Nemu doesn’t notice the two dead bodies until she trips over them.

In the precious moments that it takes her to regain her balance, she hears something clatter. Something she dislodged.

_ Shit _ .

She glances at the weaver- and sure enough, it’s moving quickly now. Into the room. Through the space between her and the maintenance hatch.

She’s not going to make it to the hatch in time, not before the Weaver will get to where she was - and be able to see the area around the hatch.

Gritting her teeth, Nemu runs through the neighbouring aisles of workstations to dive down under a desk, just as the light starts warping around her again.

Okay. Should she waste a hypo, or… she could crawl to the stack of crates conveniently placed under the access hatch, and then very, very slowly climb up, and hope the Weaver doesn’t notice her in the gloom.

If the thing actually needs light to see.

But, maybe, as long as she doesn’t disturb it- doesn’t attract attention, stays quiet… Maybe this is doable without wasting a hypo.

Holding her breath, she starts to edge over to the crates. 

They’re metal, but hollow - shit, she has to be very careful not to knock against them, especially with the wrench.

She can see the Weaver, the Typhon now hovering in the centre of the room.

Hopefully, it can’t see her. She  _ very much  _ doesn’t want to get eaten. And then have her corpse turned into a phantom.

Huh. Would it be smaller, though, than the rest of the phantoms? Since the Weaver would have less material to work with…

The hatch groans when she starts to open it, and wants to curse. Loudly.

Because a glance over her shoulder tells her that the Weaver  _ definitely _ heard it. 

The hatch finally opens with a loud screech, and she dives in, locking it behind her, and runs through the dimly lit corridor.

The faint sound of an explosion reaches her ears, and she shudders.

Bloody things have the ability to make ranged psychokinetic blasts too, huh?

Well, at least it’s too small to actually fit in this particular tunnel.

For some reason, not all the maintenance tunnels on this station were made equal.

But, well - who is she to complain when that very thing may be saving her life?

The sound of the explosions continues for a while, growing fainter as she moves away, until they stop. Maybe she’s too far, or maybe the Weaver gave up.

Hopefully it gave up.

The tunnel abruptly ends on an edge, a ladder going down at least a couple of floors, sparing her time, and mortal danger.

Thank fuck she learned the maintenance tunnel locations. This should take her to the floor right above the lobby, and then all she has to do is get through the tunnel to the preparation, and decontamination rooms leading to the psychotronics division.

So unfortunate that there’s no other routes there - other than the G.U.T.S. But that’s probably for the best, limiting the points through which the Typhon could have spread from. 

Even if the security turned out to be insufficient, and the Typhon still broke containment.

The ladder is cold under her hands, and she considers putting on the gloves. Can’t hurt, right? But they’re not quite so good at letting her type quickly, and she’ll probably have to start hacking security stations and defensive turrets to get past stuff sooner, rather than later.

And she still has to figure out what to do about the goddamn tracker.

The ladder ends, and she jumps from the last few rungs straight to the floor.

The lighting here works.

No Typhon around because they haven’t gotten here yet? Or have they already moved on, having consumed everyone in the area?

No way to know. Not unless she can access a security station and check how many are dead, and where. Although, who knows what the bracelet would say if it was on a phantom.

The maintenance hatch gives way easily, here. Perhaps that side up there just wasn’t used too often, which is why it was jammed?

She’s in the staff lobby lounge room, now - or, well, mostly on top of it. This hatch also opens close to the ceiling, shielded from view by cupboards, and disguised as something prettier than a normal hatch. Just to match the goddamn aesthetics.

Nemu glances down.

And there sure are a lot of corpses below her, aren’t there.

And with so many things dropped and strewn about, no way to tell what’s a mimic, and what isn’t.

Shit.

She looks around, considering.

She’s small. Light.

And everything here is built to be strong as hell. Including these glass-and-metal panels in-set with lighting. If she crawls along the metal lines, perhaps… 

Yeah, she might manage it. Hopefully.

Resisting the temptation to close her eyes, she crouches down even further, and steps from the top of the cupboard onto the panel, testing it out.

It doesn’t break, doesn’t even crack under her weight.

Thank fuck for ridiculous reinforcement.

On the floor below her, a mug and a chair shimmer, briefly turning into mimics, before settling again. There’s more movement in the corner of her eye, too.

Yeah, this route is probably the safest one.

There’s a gap between the decorative panelled lighting above the kitchen area of the lounge, and the lighting to the corridor leading from the flight of stairs into the lounge.

And the door there is broken, metal panels jammed and bent sideways.

Well.

Hopefully she’s small enough to squeeze through the gap. 

For a heart-stopping moment, she thinks she’s not going to make it to the other panel section, her arms looking too short to reach there, to grab hold and pull herself up; the cold metal starts to slip under her fingers as she pushes off the current panel and reaches forward.

With an undignified belly flop, Nemu manages to get half of herself onto the panel, hands holding on to the metal sticks connecting the glass to the ceiling, her legs flailing wildly with nothing to stand on.

Then she pulls herself forward, and looks back.

The mimics don’t seem to have noticed. Thank fuck.

Heart hammering, she crawls forwards, until she reaches the very end of the panels.

The drop isn’t too big. There aren’t any scattered objects.

The mimics in the kitchen shouldn’t hear her.

Slowly, she eases herself off the edge, feet still a way off from being on the ground, and lets go.

The carpet muffles her landing to a very soft  _ thump _ .

Immediately she turns around to face the broken door.

The largest gap is near the floor. Okay. Good. Nemu peeks through the gaps to look into the lobby.

No obvious current Typhon presence. Also good.

Dropping down to lie on the ground, she wriggles through the gap.

Like a worm. Or maybe a snake. Or some secret agent crawling through air vents to spy on the villain.

The staircase leading to the ground floor of the lobby is not haunted by monsters - and there seems to be nothing impeding her way across the lobby, either. The defensive turrets planned for the area have been deployed here, however.

She frowns, and turns her head.

There’s some noises, in the distance - from the upper floors, maybe? Or the med bay, or some of the offices, or-

She can’t afford to go investigate.

If the Typhon get those people, there’s nothing she can do.

She creeps down the stairs, and frowns at the turret.

She’s only had two experimental neuromods installed. Shouldn’t be enough to trigger it, but-

There goes nothing.

She runs across when the head of the turret is turned away as far from her as it can be, and hears it start to speak up about scanning the area-

And not detecting any alien threat.

Okay, well, no need for the panic then.

The door to the psychotronics area opens when she uses her  _ improved _ transcribe on it, and she slips in.

Down the stairs.

Past the now-broken security check and lockers. 

Into the changing rooms.

The lights are broken, here, flickering on and off.

She sneaks through, has to wait in the decontamination doors to get out of the rooms and onwards-

Something knocks into her, long tendrils wrapping around her throat, and then there’s a disgusting, oily,  _ fishy _ , taste in her mouth.

She bites down on the tendril, trying to rip it from the main body.

Her fingers close in the centre of the tendrils, in the shifting, slick mass as she tries to pull it away, or rip it apart. She hits the thing with the wrench.

It recoils. The tendril trying to eat her lungs rips apart. Some of the disgusting gunk stays in her mouth and throat. The rest of the mimic tries to flee.

Another hit with a wrench, and the thing splatters all over the ground.

Nemu tries to spit out the gunk in her mouth - but it sticks. Or rather, dissolves, and she swallows reflexively.

Her head aches, the pain behind her left eye, the eye through which she inject the neuromods, unbearable.

She sways.

She has to take the grav-shafts down to the main psychotronics area. She has to.

She stumbles forward, stepping into the lift, and goes down.

Black and gold flickers in the edges of her vision, and she falls to her knees, throwing up black, writhing liquid onto the floor.

A lot more than she had swallowed, she’s pretty sure.

She dry-retches from the taste in her mouth, and tries to stand up.

Her legs refuse to support her.

New plan of action: crawl to an office, hide somewhere  _ warm _ , wait to feel better.

She gets, slowly, almost blindly to the closest, half-open door.

There’s an engineering operator dispenser humming in there, still working.

The side of it is nice and warm, and… she only needs to lie down for a little bit, just until the black in her eyes leaves, until the veins on her hands stop being  _ black,  _ and almost writhing under her skin _. _

Blearily, she thinks that maybe she should be alarmed by that.

Maybe.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some chapters will require specific trigger warnings in the chapter notes; please keep an eye out if you know you need to check those!


End file.
